


Of Ice Cream Cake and a Swimming Pool

by quandong_crumble



Series: Cake'verse [2]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/pseuds/quandong_crumble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/813193">Of Blankets and Coffee Cake</a>, Tony messed things up and pushed Steve away, damaging their friendship and ruining any chance of something more. A little over twelve months later he's graduating and who should be there to watch him walk but Steve, looking perfect and happy and gorgeous.</p><p>And when Steve's seventeenth birthday rolls around, Tony's determined not to mess it up this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Ice Cream Cake and a Swimming Pool

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Blankets and Coffee Cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/813193) by [Saral_Hylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor). 



> This is a follow-up to [Saral_Hylor's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor) beautiful fic [Of Blankets and Coffee Cake](http://archiveofourown.org/works/813193). While it's not strictly necessary to read her story first, I highly recommend it because it is absolutely beautiful (and she wrote it for _meeeee_ ).

It’s stinking hot in these stupid graduation robes, even in the air-conditioned hall, and Tony would rather be nursing the dregs of his hangover anywhere else but here. He nudges Rhodey in the ribs and the older boy—a man now, really—cracks a bloodshot eye to glare at him. Tony tries to give him a reassuring smile, but it comes out more smug than anything. Not that they don’t have any reason to be smug, there are two new street signs in Tony’s apartment (one of them looks like a rude word if you’re drunk enough, but Tony had been disappointed to find out that it was a perfectly respectable street name once he’d sobered up) and the wankers over at Harvard were going to enjoy the surprises they’d left behind the dorms, provided the groundskeepers didn’t find the fireworks first. And it didn’t rain.

The boring speech continues, and Tony resists the urge scratch himself, instead craning his neck to stare out over the crowd again. He spots Rhodey’s parents near the front, neat and tidy and professional looking despite the heat. They’re wearing matching expressions of interest mixed with pride. He gives them a little smile, not that they’ll see him, and keeps searching for the two faces he’s getting more and more certain he’s not going to see. There are plenty of combinations of black hair and silver side by side in the crowd, and his heart picks up a little each time, but they’re never his parents.

He’s just about to turn his attention back to the speaker when he spots them, Obie looming above the crowd in his larger-than-life way, and next to him the skinny blond boy in a red tee shirt. Steve waves when he sees Tony looking his way, and grins so hard it looks like it hurts. Tony grins back, but he can’t really wave without jostling the people either side of him.

 

 

After the ceremonial crap is over, Tony gets dragged over to say a quick hello to Rhodey’s parents. He pauses for what he thinks is far too long so they can take a photograph of him and Rhodey together, then makes a beeline for his practically-godfather and the gawky blond that has somehow managed to become one of his best friends. He gives Obie a quick, unselfconscious hug, then stops awkwardly in front of Steve. He realises with a start that he’s looking up at Steve now; the other boy’s a little more than an inch taller than him, and he’s starting to look less like an awkward teen. Sure, he’s still got skinny wrists and a sharp jaw, but his elbows aren’t as knobbly and his shoulders are definitely broader. It’s weird to be looking up at him instead of down.

Steve just gives him another blinding grin pulls him into a bear hug, yelling his congratulations too loudly in his ear.

There are more photographs, Obie’s arm heavy across his shoulder while they grin at Steve’s camera; then he and Steve with matching grins, Tony wobbling on tiptoes to try and eliminate the new height difference. Finally, though, they’re sprawled on the grass under a tree while Obie chats up half-a-dozen potential investors whose children also graduated today. Steve nudges Tony’s arm with his open bag of chips, and Tony pushes them away.

“Seriously, you ate two and half hotdogs for lunch. How can you still be hungry?”

“I’m a growing boy,” Steve mumbles around a mouthful of chips.

“Growing out, if you keep eating like an overly-enthusiastic vacuum cleaner,” Tony snarks.

Steve gives him a half-hearted shove and Tony flops over onto his back, closing his eyes against the green filter of light through the leaves. Inwardly, he marvels that they can be so casual together after he nearly wrecked their friendship a year ago. Steve had surprised him with a blanket fort and coffee cake for his birthday, and they’d fallen asleep after watching movies, cuddled together on the floor. It should have been the start of something, but Tony had woken with Steve’s arm across his waist and Steve’s fine hair up his nose and it had been all too similar to waking up next to Sunset, before she’d turned out to be a backstabbing thief. And, he realised, he wasn’t as over that whole incident as he’d thought he was.

So when Steve had woken up and smiled that slow, sleepy smile of his, Tony had turned his face away from the attempted kiss and muttered, “I can’t do this.”

The look on Steve’s face had near broken his heart; the immediate shuttering of wide blue eyes and twist of full lips and the vertical frown line that had appeared instantly between his brows all combined to make Tony feel like he’d just kicked a puppy. A bag of puppies. He tried to explain, of course, but he’d never told Steve about Sunset—it was too embarrassing really—and he’d just made a mess of it. He’d left only half an hour later and they’d avoided each other online and in person all summer.

And then, three weeks into term Tony had received a message.

_Help. We can’t understand a thing our math teacher tells us, and the textbook is no help. Bucky and I are going to fail!_

He wound up tutoring Bucky and Steve through video chat once a week, and their friendship went back to normal.

It was a good thing, he told himself at the time. And then there was Angela, with her clever hands, and Katherine who could do sinful things with her mouth, and then Jared, who really appreciated the things he’d learned from Katherine. And Steve had Peggy, although that ended when Peggy’s family moved back to England.

“So what are you going to do now?” Steve asks, pulling Tony back into the present.

“Sleep off my hangover,” Tony says instantly, earning himself another shove.

“I meant now that you’ve graduated, moron.”

“I don’t know,” Tony admits. “Dad wants me to take a position in R&D and start building things for SI. I’m thinking I might want to stay at school, though. I might do a PhD, Doctor Stark sounds pretty cool.”

“Doctor Stark sounds pretentious.”

“Shut up, Rogers,” Tony rolls back onto his stomach and realises Steve must have moved because their faces are now inches apart. Steve lets himself fall backwards and throws the empty chip packet at him.

“You shut up, Stark.”

Tony reaches over and pokes Steve in the shoulder, then rests his hand there. “Thanks for coming, Steve. It actually means a lot.”

Steve covers Tony’s hand with his own, and since when were Steve’s hands bigger than his? “Mum’s sorry she couldn’t come, but she had an overnight shift.”

“How’d you manage to get here? Cambridge isn’t exactly walking distance from Brooklyn.”

“Mr Jarvis called Mum, actually,” Steve says. “He organised for me to catch a ride here with Mr Stane, if I wanted to come.” He gives Tony’s hand a squeeze. “Of course I wanted to come.”

“Thanks,” Tony repeats. He rolls onto his back again, pulling his hand away from Steve’s shoulder. Steve doesn’t let go, though, and they lie on their backs on the lawn, looking up at the green light filtering through the leaves, their fingers tangled together.

 

* * *

 

The Fourth of July dawns stinking hot. Tony wakes up when the sun hits the day lounge and pierces his skull. He can hear the hum of the pool filter and the obnoxious cooing of pigeons. Stupid birds. He forces his eyes open when he hears the click of the door and the sound of footsteps on the paving.

“Morning, Jarvis,” he slurs. “Hope you brought coffee.”

There’s the thump and scrape of a tray being set down, then Jarvis appears in his field of vision, holding a mug and looking vaguely disappointed.

“I’m not hung over,” Tony protests, even though he is a little. “Don’t be mean, J.”

Jarvis waits until he’s struggled upright before handing him the coffee, then, unexpectedly, sits on the day lounge next to his. The butler leans forward and Tony can feel the weight of his gaze, knows that he’s seeing the tired lines of his face, the dark bags under his eyes.

“Is everything all right, Anthony?”

Tony puts his coffee on the ground and wriggles on the lounger until he can pull the crumpled letter out of the back pocket of his cargo shorts. He turns it over and over in his fingers, not looking up at the only man in the house who had even bothered to acknowledge his presence this week. Finally, he sighs. “I’ve been accepted into Harvard to do my business masters, and MIT has invited me to stay and do a PhD in engineering.”

Jarvis smiles. “That’s wonderful news.”

Tony grimaces at him. “Yeah, it is. But I’ve really been enjoying working in the labs and…” he trails off, embarrassed.

Jarvis gives him a knowing look and stays silent, waiting Tony out. Tony squirms under the gaze and picks up his coffee again to give him something to do with his hands. Eventually he mutters into the coffee cup, “and Steve’s here.”

He’s barely seen Steve since the graduation; between his new job and Steve’s summer work, and then the other boy’s weeklong trip to visit Bucky’s relatives out of town, they’ve managed to actually spend about six hours together. There hasn’t even been a repeat of the handholding. They’ve been messaging back and forth constantly, at least, but it has been friendship-as-normal.

“It’s only the Fourth of July,” Jarvis says. “Maybe you can put the decision off a little longer?”

Tony sighs again and drowns his melancholy with the dregs of his coffee. “Yeah. Wait, July fourth? Shit!” He digs his phone out of his hip pocket and pauses, thumbs hovered over the screen, trying to think what to say.

Jarvis picks up the discarded coffee cup and stands stiffly. “There’s breakfast on the tray behind you, Anthony. Do try to eat something. Also,” he adds, almost as an aside, “your parents will be attending an event from eleven this morning until late. While I’m sure the Van Dynes would love to see you, your presence won’t be strictly required.”

Tony gives him a brilliant smile and turns back to his phone to tap out the message.

_happy birthday rogers. if you don’t have plans bring your ass over to the mansion. dad and mother will be gone all day. pool’s lovely and cool._

He sends it, and then types a quick postscript.

_bucky can come too if he wants. or anyone you want. its your birthday._

He’s halfway through the breakfast when his phone chimes a reply.

_thank god, im melting. be there as soon as the taxi shows up._

 

 

Tony should have thought this through better. It’s not that he regrets asking Steve to come over, and he was pleased when the birthday boy arrived alone and told him Bucky was busy with family all day, but the sight Steve Rogers, shirtless and in board shorts, is doing all sorts of things to him.

Steve surfaces next to him, looking like an ungainly blond seal with his hair plastered against his head. Tony splashes him in the face and duck dives to swim to the other end of the pool. Too slow, Steve’s hand closes around his ankle and he feels himself dragged backwards through the water. He flails and twists, breaking the surface spluttering, and pushes his hair out of his eyes. He suddenly has more trouble breathing as Steve releases his leg and moves closer. He gives Tony a sweet, gentle smile and Tony feels his heart begin to pound. Steve dips his head, hiding his smile in the water, and closes the distance until there are only a few inches between their faces. Tony realises that he’s not breathing, can’t breathe, as Steve tilts his face back up and Tony feels like he’s falling into wide blue eyes, and Steve leans forward and—

—spits a mouthful of water straight into Tony’s face.

Tony lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp and falls backwards. He takes a moment, floating underwater and looking up at the sun, to pull himself together, and then he tumbles and dives for Steve’s legs.

They horse around in the water for long enough to prune up and start to get cold, then drag themselves out to lie in the sun. It feels good, it feels normal, and if Tony has to berate himself every few minutes because he catches himself staring at Steve’s ass or the wing of his shoulder blades or the shadows of his ribs, not nearly as prominent as they once had been, then what else is new? Tony’s been marvelling at Steve’s beauty for as long as he’s known him. Once they’re dry the heat of the sun becomes oppressive again. Tony throws his towel over Steve and the sleepy blond jumps when the clammy cotton hits his sun-warmed flesh.

“What was that for?”

“You’re going to get sunburnt,” Tony says. He rolls over to sun his back, knowing that he’s almost as likely to get burnt until he builds up his usual summer tan. “I need a coffee. Come into the kitchen?”

The air conditioning raises goose bumps on their arms as they pad through the house, bare feet slapping against the floor. Tony finds the kitchen dark and quiet, staff taking the afternoon off with the house almost empty.

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Always.”

Tony throws open the door of the huge freezer and stares at the shelves. “Ooh, there’s apple pie. Wait, that’s Jarvis’ home made pie, it doesn’t have instructions. There’s chocolate ice cream. No, wait!” Tony spots the plain white box on the shelf behind the ice cream, and the little post it note attached.

_Anthony,_  
 _Here’s a treat for you and young Master Rogers. I hope he enjoys his birthday._

“Jarvis left you a present,” he tells Steve, manoeuvring the square white box out of the freezer and plopping it down in front of his friend. “Happy Birthday.”

Steve folds back the cardboard lid to reveal a decadent-looking ice cream cake; all chocolate and toffee shards and crumbled honeycomb on the top. Tony grabs his coffee from under the spigot of the machine and fetches a coke out of the fridge for Steve. Steve’s still sitting there looking a little lost faced with the small but very elaborate cake. Tony bumps him with his hip and says, “come on, it’s cold in here. Lets take the cake back out to the pool.”

“Did Mr Jarvis make this today before I came over?” Steve asks.

Tony considers the box, recognising the hand-stamped logo from a local boutique ice cream shop. “No, I don’t think so,” he says. “He might have had it delivered this morning, but it’s the Fourth, so probably not. He probably organised it yesterday. Come on, let’s grab some spoons at take it outside.”

“We’re not just eating it out of the box with spoons, Tony,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“Fine,” Tony huffs. Three false starts later he manages to find two plates and a knife for the cake.

“I can’t believe you don’t know where anything is in your own kitchen,” Steve laughs as he cuts them both generous slices of layered ice cream.

“I may have been banned from here after I blew up the toaster when I was twelve.” Tony bites his lip in mock-contrition and ducks his head, glancing up at Steve through his eyelashes. He’s rewarded with another laugh.

“Idiot. Why did you blow up the toaster? No, wait, I don’t really want to know what was going through your mind at twelve that made explosions seem like a good idea. I’ll stay innocent, thanks.” Steve carefully re-builds the box around the remaining cake and takes it back to the freezer, lining it up neatly on the shelf. “Come on, it’s creepy being in your house when there’s no one else here.”

Tony shrugs, though he half agrees. The mansion feels empty at the best of times, built for multiple generations to live together instead of just a family of three and the small household staff they require. When he was little, at least there were the housekeepers and his nannies, but often now it’s only him and Jarvis.

“It’s not creepy when you’re here,” he mumbles, but Steve’s already out of the kitchen.

Tony trails behind him while they walk back to the poolside, not to stare at his friend’s ass, although that’s a definite perk, but to try and shake the soft, sappy mood he’s suddenly in. He can’t help it, today has been low pressure and happy and fun and despite having to quell some pretty R-rated thoughts, it’s been pretty innocent. He wishes he had a free hand to pinch himself with, to try and draw some sense into his head before he follows Steve outside, but has to settle for biting his tongue, and then Steve’s bending over right in front of him, picking up a familiar looking battered envelope.

“I think this is yours,” he says, straightening up and turning around. “Tony, is this from Harvard?”

“Hmm?” Tony glances at the paper and realises he must have left the acceptance letter outside this morning. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about that. I’ll put it in my room later.”

“So they accepted you?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. He brushes past Steve just outside the doorway and pads around the pool until he reaches the small patch of shade where an umbrella sits close to the edge. “Don’t know if I’ll go this year though. I think I want a break from school.”

Steve follows him, clutching the letter awkwardly in the same hand as his coke bottle. “What about Doctor Stark?” he teases.

“I’ve got plenty of time to get a PhD or seven,” Tony says glibly. He doesn’t add ‘I want to stay in New York one more year, because you’re here,’ because it seems sappy. The idea of saying something that raw, that honest, fills his stomach with butterflies. So instead he says, “come on, our ice cream cake is melting.”

They eat sitting side by side in the patch of shade with their feet in the pool, close enough that their knees touch when Tony lazily kicks his feet. When he’s finished he puts his empty plate to the side and leans in, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s. Steve leans against him, turning what was supposed to be a friendly jostle into something more intimate. Tony stares resolutely at the sparkle of sunlight on the water and tries to think about where his sunglasses might be, rather than the warm stripe down his arm and side that is Steve’s skin. He jumps when he feels Steve shuffle around, pressing their knees together harder, and then Steve’s slightly sticky hand is on his shoulder, turning him to face the blond boy.

Steve’s face is serious, his eyes big and earnest, and he brings his other hand up to cup Tony’s jaw, long fingers curling around his neck, thumb on his cheek. He bites his lip, and then says softly, “Tony, I need to know. Are you going to pull away again? Because I really like you and I can’t do this if you’re going to run.”

Tony feels his stomach drop, like at the top of a roller coaster, like flying in one of his dad’s fancy jets. He wants to deny this feeling, to push it down and make a joke, mask his vulnerability with humour, but he can’t. Because this is Steve. Kind, patient, beautiful Steve who puts up with him, who stayed friends with him despite his failures, who used to be tiny and skinny and wasn’t so tiny anymore but was still just as gorgeous. Steve who he’s had a crush on for the better part of eighteen months despite himself. So instead he just shakes his head, leans into the hand against his face, and closes his eyes. “I’m staying right here,” he says, and realises he means every word.

Steve’s lips on his are soft, warm and dry. He smells like ice cream, and the kiss is gentle, chaste even. Tony leans into it, savours every moment, and tries to follow Steve’s lips when he pulls away. He opens his eyes to see Steve smiling that secret little crooked smile of his, the one he used to use when he talked about Peggy, and then Steve tugs him closer, sliding the hand on his shoulder over and around to settle on Tony’s back. Tony brings one hand up to Steve’s waist; the other finding its way to the wrist of the hand Steve is cupping his face with. Their mouths meet again, and this time Steve’s less hesitant. He sucks and nibbles at Tony’s lips, and Tony opens his mouth to the gentle pressure of Steve’s tongue, meeting it with his own. It’s still gentle, a little slow and lazy and perfect for a hot summer’s day. Steve tastes like coke and honeycomb, heat and promise, and Tony sucks gently at his tongue and falls further into Steve, pressing into him, the angle awkward but still fantastic.

Tony whines a little when Steve pulls away this time, and opens his eyes to see Steve’s eyes still half closed, pupils wide, and Steve’s lips red and slick from the kiss. They’re both breathing a little fast, and out of habit Tony listens for the click-whistle-wheeze that means Steve might need his inhaler, but there’s nothing. He gives the blond boy a smile, slow and a little sloppy, not one of his wide, brilliant, people-pleasing smiles, then drops his head to lean against Steve’s shoulder and marvels at how good it feels.

“Couch might be more comfortable,” Steve says, his voice husky.

“My bed would be even more comfortable, Tony teases. He can’t help himself; that roller coaster feeling hasn’t quite gone away, he’s giddy with it.

“Tony,” Steve says in a way that should be exasperated but comes out soft and fond. He pulls the dark haired boy closer and kisses his forehead, then his temple, then, as Tony turns his face up, his lips, quick and gentle.

“So,” Tony asks, “good birthday?”

Steve smiles down at him. “The best.”


End file.
